


i'm getting tired, and i need somewhere to begin

by contradictory_existence



Series: the end of everything [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Italian Mafia, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 00:10:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17233760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/contradictory_existence/pseuds/contradictory_existence
Summary: Ludwig is seven years old when he moves to America. When he sets foot into the teeming crowds of Ellis Island, he is flooded with the distinct feeling of being lost. It’s something that never quite goes away.





	i'm getting tired, and i need somewhere to begin

1910

Ludwig is seven years old when he moves to America. When he sets foot into the teeming crowds of Ellis Island, he is flooded with the distinct feeling of being lost. It’s something that never quite goes away.

In a corner of East Harlem, his grandfather scrounges up enough money to buy a small convenience store and the tiny apartment wedged above it. From the street below, Ludwig can smell an unfamiliar stream of sun-scorched herbs and salty sea air that floats up to the window. For dinner, they eat doughy bread, tinged with smoke and splattered with marinara and cheese. And when Gilbert and Ludwig start school, they are two pale fledglings in a flock of Italian sparrows.

The school is an old concrete building with cloudy windows and a rusty fire escape that zigzags down its side. While Gilbert translates their grandfather’s rough-hewn English to the teacher, Ludwig clings to his brother’s sleeve. His backpack is an uncomfortable weight on his shoulders, and the noise of the city grates on his ears. If he presses his face close enough to Gilbert’s jacket, hanging loose off his shoulders with sleeves too long, he can smell the scent of a father left behind in German soil.

But his grandfather has a business to run, and Gilbert is an eleven-year-old boy in no need of a little brother hanging off of him. When the bell rings, a harsh screech that makes them all flinch, Ludwig gets only a rumpled head of hair and a handful of empty air before he’s left alone in the schoolyard. The rest of the children continue to play on the pavement, paying heed to neither him nor the bell.

The teacher studies him for a moment, then turns to survey the rest of her students. “Lovino!” Her shrill call pierces the clamor of their cries, and from the throng emerges a boy about Ludwig’s age.

Vargas, the boy tells him. Lovino Vargas.

Lovino is a small child. But even though he’s shorter than Ludwig, he makes up for it in presence. He has quick, bright eyes and dark brown hair that refuses to stay flat. He reminds Ludwig of a bird—ruffled feathers, skinny limbs, and all. The boy was built for flight.

“This is Ludwig,” the teacher tells Lovino. “Show him around and take him under your wing, will you?”

…

At recess, Lovino sits on the sidewalk, and Ludwig sits with him. Lovino points across the schoolyard at Gilbert. “Is that your brother?” he asks.

Ludwig follows Lovino’s gaze. Gilbert is easy to spot, with his pale skin and shock of white hair. The two of them aren’t much alike really, but here they look more similar than different. He nods silently.

Lovino considers his response, then continues, “I have a brother too, but he’s younger than me. He’s small, too, smaller than me, and he always smiles really big. Sometimes it looks like he’s more smile than person.” Ludwig doesn’t say anything, and Lovino keeps talking.

“His room’s bigger than mine, but he always stays in his bed, never gets up to play or anything. I don’t know why I can’t have his room… He draws a lot, and he’s really good at it too. Grandpa always puts his pictures up on the walls.”

“What’s his name?” The question slips out before Ludwig even realizes his mouth is open. It’s abrupt in an uncertain sort of way, like trying to catch himself after tripping over a crack in the sidewalk. Ludwig braces himself for impact.

Lovino looks surprised at the sound of Ludwig’s voice, but he grins and says, “Feliciano.”

Later, Ludwig meets Lovino’s other friends, sons of family acquaintances and such. They seem relatively withdrawn, and for some reason, Ludwig doesn’t think it’s because of him. He wonders what it is about Lovino that makes them keep their distance.

The one who doesn’t stay away, though, is Antonio. Antonio has green eyes for laughing with and red tomatoes for snacking on, caramel skin and cinnamon freckles. There’s a careless mess of hair on top of his head, unruly curls sticking out every which way like his mother forgot to brush it for him (later, Ludwig finds out that Antonio doesn’t have a mother to brush his hair, or a father… not even a brush on most days, for that matter).

Antonio isn’t Lovino’s best friend though. When Ludwig asks who it is, perhaps foolishly, Lovino rolls his eyes and says, “You, duh.”

Ludwig can’t help but smile. He thinks that Lovino may be his best friend too.

…

When school ends, Ludwig finds his grandfather waiting at the front of the school.

Hermann Beilschmidt stands stationary with his shoulders wide and hands tucked behind his back, one held in the other. His suit is creased and his face lined, and Ludwig can’t help but mirror the slightly downturned set of his mouth. He walks towards his grandfather with slow, measured steps while the other children stream busily around him.

He’s greeted with a firm pat on his shoulder, and it seems as though they are about to fall into a stoic silence before they are interrupted.

“Ah, Mr. Beilschmidt!” A tall man strides over to them, handshake and smile at the ready. “What a pleasant surprise to see you here.”

His grandfather reciprocates the gesture stiffly. “I am here to pick up my grandsons,” he replies. He places a hand on Ludwig’s head as if in introduction, and Ludwig can feel him discreetly smooth a few strands of hair back into place. “Ludwig, say hello to Mr. Vargas.”

Ludwig dutifully echoes his grandfather and studies the other man as he kneels to Ludwig’s height to shake his hand as well. He looks maybe a few years older than Ludwig’s own grandfather, but the lines that frame his smile reveal vivacity instead of weariness.

“A strong boy, just like his grandfather,” Mr. Vargas observes as he straightens up. He scans the schoolyard swiftly. “Is that your older grandson over there? I see he’s made friends with Antonio.”

Ludwig’s grandfather nods. “Your grandson?” he asks with a gesture to Antonio.

“When he needs it, yes.” Mr. Vargas laughs good-humoredly, shakes his head at some private thought, and says with a fond shake of his head, “No, though he would be very welcome in our family, Antonio is not my grandson. That would be Lovino over there.” He beckons at the boy, who has joined Antonio and Gilbert in their chatter. Lovino yells rapidfire Italian in reply, before returning to whatever conversation he was having with the other boys.

For a long moment, their own dialogue pauses as they watch Lovino from their spot by the entrance, Mr. Vargas somewhat amused and Ludwig’s grandfather quietly pensive. Ludwig himself is staring hard, trying to draw the familial connection beyond mere appearance, but it’s a challenge, and he puts the thought away for later.

Mr. Vargas breaks the lull with a casual remark. “So, how is your store?”

The question makes Ludwig’s grandfather straighten slightly. “Business is fine,” he says carefully. “We should be going anyway. Have a good day, Mr. Vargas. Gilbert, it’s time to leave!”

On the walk back home, his grandfather remains stoic and stiff, and even Gilbert is uncharacteristically quiet. Ludwig mulls over the silence; as they cross another street, he realizes that he doesn’t know how his grandfather and Mr. Vargas know each other, and he’s hesitant to ask.

After that, their grandfather doesn’t pick them up from school as often.

…

1914

At eleven years old, Ludwig stops chipping in at the store and starts working there instead. His grandfather pays him with whatever spare change their customers leave behind, and at the end of the day, he drops his modest earnings back into the household jar. When he catches a glimpse of his reflection as he cleans the store window, he surprises himself. The figure that stares back at him is taller, he discovers, and bigger too. He sets aside his old clothes and puts on Gilbert’s older ones. They don’t fit quite right, tight in the shoulders and short at the ankles, but he wears them anyways.

At school, he still doesn’t talk much; when he does, his voice is deeper and uncomfortably foreign, even to himself. He’s increasingly self-conscious about his taller and larger build, but these are things that are difficult to conceal.

Gilbert, on the other hand, is just as lanky as always, all hard lines and sharp smiles. He flaunts his confidence, pale hair blinding and red eyes taunting anyone who stares. When he isn’t with Ludwig, time spent out of obligation mostly, he’s with Antonio. Antonio is very much the same way as Gilbert, just as daring but with his easy laughter to boot. Together, they make for a volatile combination.

The sight of their companionship—two barely teenagers running off to do whatever it is they do with Francis, who is sixteen and French and smokes cigarettes—becomes as familiar to Ludwig as walking home alone and covering his brother’s shifts at the store. He’s sure that their grandfather notices, and he can sometimes hear arguments when he’s not supposed to, late-night storms between his grandfather’s thunder and his brother’s lightning and the sullen backwash of their hurricanes the morning after. Neither of these break Gilbert of his habit. When he and Antonio start to ditch school, Lovino only scoffs and says they’re being stupid, but Ludwig doesn’t miss the way his eyes trail after them. As the year goes on, they watch the birds fly south for Ludwig’s birthday and come home for Lovino’s.

(Ludwig doesn’t know what he thinks about Lovino, just that he does, a lot.)

…

Summer in New York City is hazy with heat waves rising up from the sidewalks, and Ludwig doesn’t completely understand the story that is unfolding until much later. In late June, someone important in Austria is shot, and he hears his grandfather curse for the first time. For the next month, they live life in limbo, teetering on the verge something that may or may not change everything.

Ludwig is close to twelve years old when the war starts. Gilbert is only fifteen.

In the United States, people cling onto neutrality like they don’t know what they would do otherwise, but slowly, war sentiment grows. Ludwig’s grandfather is silent, but in his distant gaze Ludwig can see memories stained with bloodshed and no wish for conflict with his homeland.

Gilbert, meanwhile, hungers for war with every fiber of his being. He, Antonio, and Francis make wild plans to go overseas and fight for honor and glory. Ludwig watches his brother grow increasingly defiant and it suits him so well Ludwig thinks that maybe Gilbert’s entire life has been one long war. The apartment becomes Gilbert’s new front, where he argues and yells and begs their grandfather to let him enlist. Their grandfather, of course, adamantly refuses, cites Gilbert’s recklessness and the influence of his friends and says he won’t let another son’s death weigh on his conscience. Gilbert always slams the door and storms out before their grandfather can finish. It goes on like this for months, until grandfather and grandson practically cease speaking to each other and Ludwig is left alone in no man’s land.

Ludwig tries to stay indifferent. He still sweeps the pavement out front and polishes the windows, even though people don’t come by the store as often as they used to (somehow, they still stay in business). It’s hard to block out the malice that drips off his classmates’ tongues when they say his name. The long u is cut short, the v is doubled, and Ludwig doesn’t know if he’s a son of Germany or an American boy.

For Ludwig’s birthday that year, Gilbert gives him their father’s jacket. Well, lends it to him. “I’m only letting you borrow it,” Gilbert says pointedly. “Just for winter.” Ludwig nods in thanks. His old jacket has holes from when someone shoved him against the fence so hard it ripped.

Gilbert still walks Ludwig to school, shields him from the sharp eyes of strangers staring at them and glares defiantly back. One time, a few of Ludwig’s classmates run up behind them, pull roughly at Ludwig’s backpack, and sneer kaiser at him, before sprinting off. Gilbert lets out a shout, picks up a rock and hurls it at their retreating backs. It almost strikes one of them in the head, but sails harmlessly past.

The last time Gilbert walks ludwig to school, they stop outside the gate. Gilbert puts his hand on Ludwig’s shoulder and speaks quietly. “I’m going to be 18 soon, and America is going to declare war. The old man can’t stop me from enlisting then.” He pauses, and the implications of his words hang heavy in the air between them. He says, “Take care of yourself,” and tousles Ludwig’s hair, and then Gilbert is off. Ludwig feels seven years old all over again.

…

1917

After Gilbert leaves, the apartment becomes much quieter. Ludwig returns from school, studies hard, and pretends go to sleep after dinner. Instead, he quietly unfolds newspapers on the floor of his bedroom and tries to track the movement of American troops in Europe on an old atlas. He’s not very good at it, partly because the papers don’t have a lot of information and partly because he doesn’t know where a lot of the cities are. But he tries his best, because he can’t just do nothing.

He wonders irrationally if he is Gilbert’s guardian angel now, the way Gilbert was for him before. In his dreams, he catches bullets aimed as his brother three thousand miles away.

By the time his grandfather catches him, his map is much improved. He freezes where he’s kneeling over the newspapers, guilty, but his grandfather only nods once and closes the door again. The next morning, his grandfather has already opened the store, but there is a fresh newspaper waiting for Ludwig at the table.

…

Sometimes, he thinks Gilbert can make it through. Gilbert is clever and strong; he has determination in his eyes and iron in his blood. He has friends too, people to protect him, even if they are Antonio and Francis. Ludwig hopes until it hurts.

That day, the Beilschmidt household receives mail from the government. Ludwig’s grandfather opens the envelope mechanically and reads the letter. He sets it back on the table and retreats into his room, and Ludwig knows.

For weeks he has nightmares. In them, he sees Gilbert’s face, grinning around a lit cigarette like he’s telling a joke. But then the smoke turns a sickly yellow-green and its tendrils wrap around Gilbert’s face and Ludwig feels like he’s the one who’s choking.

He wakes up in a sweat to the empty bed across the room and a dead man’s jacket folded neatly on top of it.

The newspapers talk of armistice and peace, and Ludwig doesn’t care. Antonio and Francis come back, and Ludwig doesn’t care. He doesn’t care at all, not even when they go to the funeral and everyone is there, even the Vargas family. He wears the jacket.

…

It’s November when Lovino sits beside Ludwig on the sidewalk again. The school day is over, but Ludwig can’t seem to bring himself to walk home.

“I,” Lovino starts, stops. “I have a brother too. I think I told you once.”

“I remember,” Ludwig says. “Feliciano.”

The name is hardly a statement, not even whisper—an afterthought on the tail-end of an exhale—but it makes Lovino stiffen very slightly, then slump, like whatever was holding him up was released after being clutched so tightly. “Yeah. Had a brother, I mean. Sweet, happy; an artist. And… very sick, often.” It’s a long while before Lovino straightens up and continues quietly, “I’m sorry about Gilbert, Ludwig.”

After he leaves, Ludwig realizes that Lovino is the first person to say his name the German way in a very long time. Above him, the tree branches are bare, and the birds have long left for winter. He stands and walks home alone.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: contradictory-existence


End file.
